


Bermuda

by Flora_Gray



Series: Tumblr Prompts and Challenges [3]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: (No I’m not), Crack Taken Seriously, Extra Evil Erik, F/M, Horror but Make it Funny, I'm Sorry, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance but Make it Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flora_Gray/pseuds/Flora_Gray
Summary: With a little help, Christine realizes that Erik is the only man for her.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Original Male Character(s), Christine Daaé/Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Series: Tumblr Prompts and Challenges [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950790
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Bermuda

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Timebird84’s Spooky Phantober 2020 Tumblr challenge 
> 
> Day 20 Prompt — “Bermuda Triangle”
> 
> Caution: very murdery. 
> 
> Also, sex stuff.

**Bermuda**

  
Raoul was first to go. 

The little dalliance between Christine and the vicomte had come to its inevitable end when he received his orders. _Away at sea,_ she’d said, through her tears.

Well, Erik supposed the boy would eventually make his way out to sea, unless the weights he’d attached to those heavy, drugged limbs before depositing him into the Seine proved more effective than expected. 

After Raoul’s untimely departure, rather than finding comfort with her beloved friend and mentor, Christine found it in Jean’s — that beautiful simpleton who delivered more than just bouquets from the florist shop down the street — thick, tanned arms...

Arms which were now scattered among the grass in little pieces, along with the rest of him, dotting a remote meadow outside of the city like a field of red-blooming wildflowers.   
  
It’s not as if Christine had expected a relationship to develop from the near-wordless encounters in her darkened dressing room, so she hardly seemed to notice when the visits suddenly dried up. 

That one was a favor to her, really. Without the distraction, she could focus on singing. Unfortunately, the singing she focused on was not her own, but Matteo’s, a promising young artist visiting from Milan. 

What a voice he had. The chemistry between the soprano and the tenor had been incendiary, the resulting affair burning hot and fiery. But it could not compare to the heat and fire burning in the furnace of the big, black-bellied boiler down in the third cellar. When he shut his eyes, Erik could still remember the sound of his screams with pitch-perfect clarity. 

_Ah, what a voice!_

Christine was furious that he left early for the next city with only a brief note to say goodbye, and Erik generously lent a sympathetic ear as she railed and raged against men. She’d all but sworn them off at that point... 

But then there had been Victor. 

A kind, quiet young man, the most talented of the scene-painters, he’d truly captured her heart. But in the end, Victor would not live up to his name. In fact, he’d hardly put up a fight as Erik tightened the catgut around his neck and watched the light leave those kind, quiet eyes, then extracted the ring he’d found tucked away in the pocket of his waistcoat.

As it turned out, Victor wasn’t the only one capable of capturing a heart. While Erik didn’t have the young man’s talent for painting, he did find the addition of a few splashes of red on the unfinished canvas backdrop quite charming.

Poe was wrong — beneath the floorboards was a _perfect_ hiding place. 

Christine was crushed when she got the news that, rather than show for what he said would be a special dinner, he’d eloped to Spain with a young girl he’d gotten in the family way. But luckily for her, Erik was there to provide a gentle, loving shoulder to cry on.

Now they lay together in the semi-darkness, flushed skin cooling, Erik’s head pillowed on the soft flesh of her belly.

“Bermuda?” Christine‘s voice asks from above him. 

Erik stills. “What?”

“You just whispered ‘Bermuda.’”

“Oh.” His voice hitches. ”Did I?”

He can feel her tense beneath him. “Who is it?”

Erik exhales, letting his weight melt into her again. “Not a who — a where.” He skims a finger along her belly. “Legend tells of a mysterious place, where all men who enter...mysteriously disappear, never to be seen again.”

He traces the soft triangle of down between her thighs with one cool fingertip. She shivers beneath his touch.

The small diamond glints on Christine’s finger as she brings her hand down to stroke Erik’s sunken cheek. “Is it cursed?”

“Yes,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “Yes, something like that.” Then he presses his twisted lips into that cursed, blessed triangle and smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, now that’s true love. 🥰


End file.
